A/N: Sorry! This chapter is coming couple days later than I had hoped, but you know how life is, always getting in the way. Just a short note this time; it's about time for Alistair to come out of his funk, don't you think? I adore Alistair most days, but his moping gets down right irritating after a while. And this story's been more than angsty enough for my tastes. Please, please, please review and let me know if you have questions, ideas…general praise (especially the general praise, lol). They're like crack and the more I get the more I write. ;-)

The song is called Suledin and translates into the following,

Time was once a blessing
but long journeys are made longer
when alone within.
Take spirit from the long ago
but do not dwell in lands no longer yours.

Be certain in need,
and the path will emerge
to a home tomorrow
and time will again
be the joy it once was


Lyna watched as Morrigan's eyes narrowed and she breathed out a deep and pain filled sigh as Morrigan spit her increasingly common venom at Alistair. She was beginning to suspect that her foreseeable future was going to consist of playing referee between the two of them and she was not looking forward to it. Part of her was in complete agreement with Morrigan's cold and logical analysis of his behavior; Alistair was sulking, he wasn't even attempting to spare them his woe and it was annoying. But on the other hand, the part of her that had had everything she loved ripped away from her less than two weeks ago wished she could do something to ease the pain. She knew she had been on the waspish side while at Ostagar, and Alistair had done everything in his power to make her smile…but the other men in their party would have been hard pressed to do her harm. If Morrigan wished to, and Lyna suspected she did, she could for far worse to Alistair than harm him physically. She needed to say something, if for no other reason than to maintain their little party's cohesion. She was suddenly aware that her indecision was beginning to show physically when her fingers, which had been idly twirling and toying with the last bite of bread, fumbled and her food dropped to the ground between her legs. She sighed with irritation, picked the morsel up, dusted it off and blew on it before popping the whole thing in her mouth and damn anyone who said anything about it.

She took a deep breath to prepare herself and boosted herself off the ground before walking over to where Alistair sat in the shadows of his tent and a couple broken crates. The mabari that had followed them in to camp seemed to have taken something of a liking to him and rested its gargantuan head on his thigh, but from what she could tell Alistair had completely ignored the beast. She had to stop herself from voicing her first thought. Could you be more dire?

"May I join you?" She asked quietly. Alistair nodded, never making eye contact, as he fiddled with his joining pendant. "How are you doing?" She continued.

He was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out just exactly how he was doing. "How do you do it?" he asked.

Lyna wasn't certain exactly to what he was referring to and so she took a shot in the fuzzy grey. "How do I continue after losing my clan?" Alistair nodded. "Honestly, I'm not sure I have," she replied. That was obviously not helpful, and it seemed only to make Alistair retreat further into his stupor. "What I mean to say is that we can't continue as we were. We must become something new instead. I try to remember all the things I gained from knowing the ones I lost. I try to make their love and strength and support my own and look to a brighter future, and in that way they are always with me."

Alistair scoffed loudly at her banality.

"Do not mock!" Lyna suddenly cried. She knew it was an empty platitude, but it was a platitude that was allowing her to face the day and it seemed vitally important at that moment. "My clan may not be dead, but even you must see through all your moping that I may never see them again. As such, they are as good as dead to me!" He didn't say anything, "And I loved Tamlen, and there is nothing that will bring him back. I should have died with him, and for some reason that only the creators know, I did not. Instead I was ripped away from my clan to fight a war that I would otherwise have no part in. The best I can hope for is to do his memory justice." Now Alistair looked ashamed.

She sighed again, pausing to collect her thoughts before she continued. "I continue because Tamlen's life deserves more than to be grieved over. I continue because my clan sent me away so that I might live, not so that I might be a bitter and hollow shell of who I was. I owe it to them, if to no one else, to at least try…," She lowered her head to try and get a better look at Alistair's face. "Wouldn't Duncan and the other wardens want the same for you?"

Alistair didn't respond as he continued to thumb his joining pendant, lost deep in his thoughts. She had one last pearl of wisdom she could impart, though she suspected it would not have the same amount of meaning for him as it did for her. "My people have a song… The song is about enduring and emerging from sorrow. It is tied to the loss of our ancient home although it speaks strongly to me when I am sad as well." She began to sing then, low and quietly, only intending the words for Alistair and herself. She was no bard, but she could carry a tune well enough.

"Melava inan enansal
ir su araval tu elvaral
u na emma abelas
in elgar sa vir mana
in tu setheneran din emma na

lath sulevin
lath araval ena
arla ven tu vir mahvir
melana 'nehn
enasal ir sa lethalin."

He listened to her song and, after it was over, her short translation, and at length, he tilted his head to the side, considering everything she had said. Eventually he lifted the pendant to eye level, gave it a long sanctioning stare and hung it back around his neck. "You're right," he finally replied before turning to look at her.

Took you that long, did it? She thought as she smiled and met his gaze. On the whole, she supposed he was right on schedule. He hadn't had to deal with her on the road like Duncan had and she was beginning to suspect she had been a great deal more ornery than usual. "Of course I am," she informed him, winking as she continued. "Dalish women are rarely wrong, and it doesn't tend to end well for the men when we are."

Alistair quickly forced a somewhat brittle and nervous laugh. "I'll try to keep that in mind…" it wasn't the response she was hoping for and perhaps her disappointment showed on her face. "It's a funny joke, don't get me wrong, unless…it is a joke right? No offense, but you can be very scary." That didn't help.

She quickly abandoned her attempt at levity, perplexedly looking him over from head to toe, as she considered what to say in response. It seemed he trusted her just about as much as she trusted him. In the days since Ostagar, Lyna had come to the decision that whatever threat the wardens posed to her before was moot. Alistair was the only one remaining and whether he bore her ill will or not, he was of little danger to her. He was certainly a skilled fighter when he wanted to be, but he seemed to otherwise lack the will for the time being. She had silently wondered when looking at him from time to time if her initial impression of him had been right—that given a choice, he would never hurt a fly—but she had not stayed alive, nor kept her clan alive, by gambling on the good will of a shemlen. Alistair fought the darkspawn and bandits right alongside her but he was sloppy, distracted and trapped in his own thoughts.

That was an entirely different problem all together. In her vengeance Lyna was overkill, but Alistair was under-kill and more than once she'd had to finish off a genlock or two that he had not entirely seen to. One had even managed to deal him a ghastly slice to the shin only a few days ago. Morrigan's magic was enough to heal his leg for now, but he had limped for a while after that and it was clear to Lyna that Morrigan would not be able to handle their much more serious injuries. Regardless of his loyalties, Lyna did not trust to have him at her back simply because of his inattention.

"We do not trust each other," she stated unequivocally. He made to protest but she raised a hand to stop him. "You are a shem and, for the moment, a rather careless fighter." He attempted to argue again, but a stern look silenced him. "And I am a Dalish rogue with a short temper and blood vengeance on my mind. These concerns must be settled." He didn't argue now. "Alistair, until you pose a direct threat to my person, you have nothing to fear from me. My revenge is for the darkspawn and the archdemon alone." He nodded his understanding but was silent a long while, his brow furrowed as if trying to sort through a conundrum.

"Well then I supposed I shall be glad to not be one of them…why does my humanity make it so difficult for you to trust me as an individual, Lyna?" He finally asked. "I have never done anything to harm you; in fact, I looked out for you in the wilds. Maker, I carried you back to Ostagar!" The pitch of his voice was rising. Clearly he had been harboring these thoughts for a while.

Lyna's eyes retreated to the ground before her in something that felt disturbingly close to shame. "We Dalish are taught our entire lives that the shemlen are not to be trusted. It is a…difficult lesson to unlearn," She reasoned. She probably should have told him the part where she half suspected him of killing Ser Jory, but if he hadn't that would only lead to discussion of Duncan and she didn't think he would take well to that particular subject. It would have to wait.

"We're not all bad you know," he replied softly.

She knew he was right. "As to the other reason for my distrust-"

"I have not been at my best in battle since…" he interrupted before he trailed off, not wanting to put voice to his loss. He cleared his throat, refocusing his mind and continued. "I have been careless and it had cost me. I have a shiny new scar to prove it and everything," He smirked cruelly to himself. "I hope you know that I am not usually like that."

"I believe that is true," Lyna nodded. "But you have to remember I was quite ill when you were fighting at your best. I need you to be present in battle, not embattled with your grief. More so, I need you at my back; I cannot watch yours and my own at the same time." It was more than reasonable and they both knew it, gaining some degree of mutual understanding. "Will you come join the rest of the world then, Alistair?"

He nodded. "I cannot guarantee that my sadness will be completely gone, but I do my best not to wallow in it at all hours."

"And I would not want you to abandon your mourning before you are ready. I would not have you resent me for it." A weak smile of thanks was her reward and she returned a much brighter one in exchange. "Come, you have spent enough time in these shadows and the fire needs tending."

They spent the rest of the night in amiable silence, and when Morrigan returned her irritated glare in Alistair's direction was much softer than it had been when she had left. Whatever she had been up to, it had clearly done a great deal to calm her temper and for that Lyna was endlessly thankful.

The morning did not go as smoothly.

The first thing they had done when they entered the village proper had been to visit a vendor outside the chantry. There had been some initial conflict over what he was charging poor refugees for his goods. Lyna couldn't be bothered; shems should deal with shem concerns, she said. Eventually Alistair spoke up and convinced him to lower his prices to what he would have charged before the blight…but he would be charging them full price. Lyna scoffed loudly and then muttered about dirty shems loudly in Dalish before she left the bartering to Alistair. As she had said before, she lacked diplomacy and subtlety, not common sense; he was better suited to dealing with pigheaded humans.

After he finished with the surly merchant, selling nearly all the junk they had looted off darkspawn and bandits thus far, their small party accepted a couple quick but well-paying jobs from the chanter's board and put some real coin in their pockets before heading to the tavern to see about supplies. The idea of needing coin to buy things from strangers irritated Lyna to no end; among the Dalish everything was shared openly with the rest of the clan. In truth, you couldn't even really keep your meals or your bedroll to yourself as some small child would eventually sink their sweat dirty and grass stain covered body down next to you and take what they could. And so it was with much disgust that Lyna watched how jealously the people in this village guarded the things they owned.

It was inside that they encountered a small group of Loghain's men, left behind to search for any warden stragglers. The fight was brief, aided in part by the initiate from the night before, but more so by Alistair's sudden reversal in fighting ability. Where his attention had been lacking and scattered before, he was at Lyna's back and entirely focused on their fight. When it was over she smiled and nodded her thanks to him and his face brightened much like it had in the wilds when she'd broken down and asked for his help.

From there the initiate, Leliana she called herself, joined their party, insisting the Maker made her do it. The sentiment gained her no friends within their party, Alistair being the only Andrastian in the group and his faith was shaky on a good day. Still, Lyna could see she was a good fighter and they were in desperate need of allies. She would take what she could get.

That decision turned out to have been a very good one as it was only through Leliana's intervention that they later managed to convince the revered mother to release the Qunari caged at the edge of the village in to their custody. Lyna was somewhat surprised to hear Morrigan speak in favor of taking the Qunari along since she had been so opposed to the dog's presence and later to letting Leliana follow them. Lyna herself was only a begrudging fan of the dog herself. She was a ranger aside from being an elf and preferred the company of wild animals, much like Morrigan. But the dog quickly proved to be just as useful in a fight as the rest of their merry band, and so he earned his keep well enough.

Soon enough, however, Lothering would fall to the blight. Lyna and Alistair could sense the encroaching hoard by midday and knew it was probably a matter of hours before the darkspawn began flooding in to the village. They told the knight captain to evacuate the moment they sensed the impending darkness, but morosely refused to stay and fight when he asked for their aid. It was a lost cause, they told him, and he and his men would put their lives to better use defending the refugee's withdrawal than trying to fend off the evil that was fast approaching.

Eventually he agreed to their advice, but not before ordering his men to set as many traps for the darkspawn as possible. If they were not to face the darkspawn directly, he would do everything he could to put a dent in their forces from a distance.

That night, from the king's highway, the refugees of Lothering watched with fear and anguish as explosions, flames and smoke consumed their homes and danced high in the air to lick at the sky. The blighted bodies of men, dwarves, elves and Qunari poured over the small village. Fields were ablaze and traps held a few darkspawn rooted to the ground in places. Poison gas sold to the merchant in the tavern slowly consumed one of the farther field.

In particular, Lyna watched Leliana. The poor woman cried unabashedly as she watched the chantry, her home, collapse beneath the weight of the burning roof. She said nothing, perhaps knowing that the losses could have been far greater. Homes could be rebuilt, fields could be sewn again, livestock could be replaced. There would of course be some loss of life. A few of the older villagers had declined to leave, claiming they were too old and too frail to make the long journey to Denerim. Some stayed to defend the parents and grandparents who stayed to face their deaths. Lyna knew there would be no convincing those men and women to run. It was a horrible waste of life, but she knew that she would have done the same for her clan in that position.

That night in camp, there was silence. It was late, but they had finally outrun the hoard enough to feel comfortable about stopping. They had broken off from the refugees some hours back, claiming they had obligations elsewhere in the south lands. The only sounds were from tents being erected and backpacks being unpacked. In an uncharacteristic show of kindness, Morrigan had come back from wherever it was she ran off to at night with a wolf's body trailing on the ground behind her. They might have eating well that night, but it seemed that at least half of them lacked the stomach for food.

It was not until everyone else had gone to bed and Alistair and Lyna stood watch at the camp's perimeter that finally someone spoke.

"We really should give him a name," Alistair mused, looking back and smiling at the dog as he rolled on to his back and kicked one of his hind paws in the air, clearly in the middle of a vivid dream.

"What's wrong with just calling him dog or mutt?" Lyna asked.

"Mabari are extremely intelligent," Alistair said defending the animal. "Calling him that might land us all in trouble. Wouldn't you been insulted if I simply called you elf or knife ear?"

Lyna shot him a dangerous look and she felt a bit of satisfaction when he gulped nervously. "If you did, you might find yourself divested of your tongue in the morning."

Alistair's hand came to his throat, attempting to rub away some sudden discomfort. "Yes, so you see, he should probably have a name."

Lyna considered it for a moment, but was truly lost. "We do not keep domesticated animals in the Dalish tribes, even the halla are not truly tamed. It is an affront to their nature. The closest I have ever come to having an animal companion was when I summoned a wolf for a hunt once. She was not so much as a year old and from what I could tell she had lost her pack. She followed me around for several months after that, but she must have found them again because one day she simply ran off…what name does one give a dog?"

"Well, I suppose that depends on the animal," Alistair replied. "Most people give Mabari fierce warrior names like Dane or Krull." He replied.

"Krull?" Lyna questioned, amused by the strange name.

"Yes, Krull. As in Krull the Warrior King," Alistair responded, his voice becoming deep and gruff as he restated the name. Lyna could not help herself and let out a bark of laughter. "Or you know, whatever sounds right."

"It seems to me that you should name him then, you are much better suited to the task," she responded, mirth twinkling in her eyes.

"Ah, but I'm not the one he has chosen for his master," Alistair shrugged. "He will only answer to the name you give him, like it or not."

"What if you chose the name and we let him think I picked it?" Lyna hedged. She was losing the argument and she knew it, but her pride rarely allowed her to give in easily.

"Mabari," Alistair said slowly, annunciating every syllable slowly and clearly. "Smart dogs. He'll figure it out."

"Very well," Lyna sighed. She shifted her eyes back to the forest just beyond their camp, though her thoughts were far away from their watch. "His name will be Fen'Harel, the dread wolf."

Alistair smiled. "It fits. He's just about as frightening as you are in battle…" He hesitated for a moment.

"Out with it," Lyna commanded.

"It's kind of a mouthful," He wavered. "Do you mind if I just call him Fen?"

"Very well," she said.